


Sacrifice

by VickyVicarious



Category: Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode Related, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She was never able to think as coldly as necessary when he was around." </p>
<p>Anastasia's POV of the second prison scene in episode 4. [Red Knave]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice

“Wait here, boys,” Anastasia cooed, stepping alone into the prison and locking the door behind her with a twirl of her fingers before Tweedle Dee or Dum could react. She stood in silence for a long moment, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

The Red Queen’s prison was located in her castle’s left rook tower – left, _sinistra_ , for menace and evil. The rook for straightforwardness, honesty – in Wonderland, such a trait might as well be the ultimate crime, to dare be true and strong in a land like this. Wonderland was the home of crooked bishops, knights who left their companions behind in pursuit of their own gain, pawns to be used and discarded… and one Queen, poised, graceful, beautiful, tall enough to see the whole board where others could not, clever enough to move in any direction, ruthless enough to be stained red if necessary, to do what had to be done, to cross the entire board if she must.

It was rather telling that Will was the only prisoner in the tower. He’d always been the worst kind of honest, the kind that came entirely from the heart.

Wetting her lips slightly, Anastasia put on a smile and began to climb the stairs. Her heels made an echoing click on each step; Will was three floors up. He would have plenty of time to hear her coming, to hear her and only her, to know she had chosen to speak to him privately. She refused to hurry, taking a full ten minutes to walk up to his level, slowing only on the last step as she turned to face him.

Her red gown trailed down the stairs behind her. When he had known her, she’d worn peasant gowns, sensible attire – now she wrapped herself tight in red, in jewelry and long, draping stretches of sensual fabric. Every word she spoke was a flirtation, an insinuation of something else, and her smiles were made of the finest glass.

“What’re you doing here?” Will asked dully. “I thought the whole point of becoming queen was so that you never had to get your hands dirty again.”

Anastasia’s smile shattered on her lips, entirely too genuine. It took a moment to recover, to sway forward (thinking again: how impractical, these clothes, how delicate the power they gave her) and brighten her smile, harden it enough to hurt.

“Will, I still get my hands dirty… The only difference is now I get people to clean them off for me.”

“So you’ve just come to gloat?” Will’s head was still tilted back, his voice heavy and tired. Anastasia knew it was entirely her own fault – just seeing her brought him pain. Even so, it gave her a twisted sort of joy: the dark angles of his eyebrows, the jut of his ridiculous ears, even the flat set of his lips, where once there had been such wide smiles. Just looking at him brought the memories back, so vivid that Anastasia could almost taste him, almost feel the prickle of his hair in her hand, the way he’d slid his nose against her own. His voice, though, she’d only ever heard it this way once before, on the day that she had left him. “Remind yourself that you did the right thing all those years ago.”

“That’s not why I’m –” Her own voice went soft in response, weak and as close to shame as she could get, because he was correct, in a way. She had reminded herself that she chose rightly… every night for years, she reminded herself, until finally she had to concede defeat. She did not choose what was right – but she _had_ chosen what was wise, and that had required leaving Will behind. She was never able to think as coldly as necessary when he was around.

“Then why?” he interrupted her. He didn’t move, stayed slumped in that casual, half-relaxed, half-defeated pose. He looked so tired, and in such pain, but nonetheless his aim was true. Blunt and painful, but true; like a dulled arrow to the heart. His words could not penetrate her skin, could not make her bleed or scar. Instead they would insinuate themselves beneath her surface, ache for days to come, a bruise no magic could heal.

The Queen took a moment to compose herself. It only half worked – her breath stuttered before she began to speak.

“I came to tell you that in a few minutes, the White Rabbit will be here with instructions to take you out of Wonderland, and back to where he found you.” Anastasia had never inquired as to what world that was; she only knew that it was not Alice’s, nor was it the Enchanted Forest. She did not _want_ to know – this was one piece of knowledge she did not crave, to learen what land Will had called home these past years. The land she lured him away from, dangling his debt to Alice before him as a string before a pouncing cat. It had taken many long hours before Anastasia could convince herself that bringing Will back was necessary, but the White Rabbit was far from persuasive, and Alice would not have come otherwise.

But he had served that purpose already, and there was no reason to keep him here, not one outside the dark chambers of her heart. And staying here put him in danger – so he must go.

“Really now?” His voice was skeptical, the slight jerk of his head dismissive.

“Will, I’m serious,” she said, far too quietly, with far too much genuine meaning. It was a mistake, her words almost pleading – it _hurt_ to open herself even that far and it was a mistake.

“Is this the part where you get to catch me escaping? Give you an excuse to kill me?” Will’s continued dismissal was maddening, his refusal to understand what she was doing here. He was a _clever man_ , he must see what she was risking even to give him this much, he must know what this meant.

“Oh, I don’t need an excuse to kill you, I need an excuse _not_ to kill you,” she seethed, emotion trembling under every word and almost breaking free. But Will still just _stared_ , with those same tired eyes, and Anastasia was forced to go on, trying to put enough strength in the words so that he would _listen_. “I’m involved with people who want you dead.”

But Will paid no attention to her words – instead he was watching _her_ , a curious lilt to the heartbreak in his eyes, a sick fascination she knew he’d never been able to completely dispel, for all his hatred of her now. He still wanted to _understand_ , to know how and why she had become what she was now, and he could not resist any chance of finding out.

She was a cruel woman, to take such comfort from his pain.

“Since when did you do what anyone told you?” he asked… but he was wrong, he still couldn’t see.

“No,” she breathed, moving over to stand before the center of his cell, directly in front of him. Straightforward, honestly sinning – that had always been Will. “No, you don’t understand. I’m trying to make it up to you.”

“I don’t need your _pity_ , Ana!” He leaned forward, voice raising, losing for the first time his careful slouch and though he sat back against the wall immediately, it was too late. He’d been waiting there for her, had heard her coming and had chosen to sit back in the middle of his cot, to lean against the wall as though he was uninterested, unaffected by her presence – but now he’d broken, and the power shifted even further in Anastasia’s favor.

(She ignored the attack he had made in using her nickname; it was a clever shot, a burn that would scorch for years after today – but sacrifices had to be made in any successful play.)

“Actually, you do,” she told him, but he just looked back at her challengingly, and she felt herself slipping again, real emotion pressing against the thin veneer of her composure, straining to get out: “Because without my pity you won’t have a lot of things including _your head!_ ” A breath, an attempt to calm down. “So when the Rabbit gets here…”

Will shook his head, jaw clenching slightly. “I’m not going.”

“Oh don’t be a fool now, Will,” Anastasia warned, tension strumming through her limbs because she recognized that look. A rook always stuck to his chosen path, forging onwards against any odds.

“If I’m a fool, it’s only because you’ve made me one,” he said, straightforward and strong and so, so stupid. “You’re a terrible person, who does terrible things to people, but I think there’s one thing even you won’t do.”

“What’s that?” She already knew the answer – wanted him to say anything else, but knew what he would say.

“Kill me.” He met her eyes and challenged her directly, the utter fool, spoke directly to the woman she had become and the girl that she had grown from, as if he understood her, as if he knew her even now. Her heart trembled at the assault, and she felt the crimson red of rage. “In fact I dare you to kill me, because personally I don’t think you’ve got it in you.”

“You should know better than anyone that the surest way to make me do something is to tell me that I can’t.” The words quivered on the edge of losing all control – the Red Queen was cracking away under his assault, and Anastasia clung even tighter to her emotions, squeezing them tight, refusing to let them rule.

Will stood, and paced forward, closing the distance between them in a moment. “ _You can’t_.”

Anastasia stared at him, trying desperately to remember herself, trying not to let him break her so easily – ah, but he always had. He’d read her perfectly, understood her on the deepest level even when he knew nothing of what she was planning; he knew her _heart_ , the wretched thing, Will knew just how to hurt her and heal her and make her want stupid, senseless things.

He leaned a bit closer to the bars.

Anastasia pulled away, spun around and fled down the stairs, walking as swiftly as her dress would allow – why had she worn it? This was not the sort of armor she needed against Will. There _was_ no armor that could protect her against Will, he could see her like no other, could _love_ her like no other, even now. Even now, though he hated her for all she had done, some part of him loved her, a small foolish honest straightforward _strong_ part of him, and it would break her to be around him.

She should have known. She should have known – for all Will was rightfully a rook, that had never been his place on her board. He’d always been her king, _her_ king long before she took any throne, the most vulnerable piece in play, the very heart of the game. It was why she had left him – she could not afford such a weakness.

Far worse, as this conversation had revealed – he still was. Even after years apart, after ripping him to so many pieces and shattering herself secretly to match, even when he was allied with Alice he was still her king. He would always be her king, always her weakness, always so capable of destroying her if she made even a single wrong move, and that – that simply would not do.

She had come too far to let him hold her back now; it was just as he had said, as _Jafar_ had implied – with Will around she was no Queen. She lost herself, slipped back years into Anastasia, into his Ana, a silly girl in love with a man far too kindhearted for Wonderland. Even sending him away would be no use – she had proof, now, that Will continued to affect her over years, over realms, over everything else with just a smile or a dare. He knew her best and would hurt her worst, and the time had come to assign him his rightful place on the board once and for all.

Tip over your own king, and you conceded the game. But a _rook_ … sacrificing a rook was a noble move, a necessary step to achieve a greater goal.

This was a test, in so many ways – Will knew how she would react to a dare, he _knew_ and Anastasia swallowed hard as she continued to click steadily down three flights of stairs. Either he wanted her to defy his dare, and prove him right – give him hope, perhaps, that some shred of the girl he once truly loved remains. Or he might want her to accept the dare, to prove herself evil and prove his hatred justified, might have loved her enough to want to die at the sight of what she’s become.

But Jafar is testing her too. She had been willing to fail his test when she walked in here, and only now did Anastasia realize how foolish that was. What a risk. She _needed_ Jafar, and her leverage over him was remarkably fragile; though she may not do what anyone else told her, she could not afford to lose his aid.

She had never followed anyone’s orders, never obeyed anyone… but there was _one_ man Anastasia had listened to, had trusted to guide her, had built her entire world around before realizing how simple, childish, how weak she was – Will Scarlet.

And now he had dared her to kill him.

When she opened the doors of the prison, it was with a perfect smile, beautiful and vicious as a diamond. She strode forward, letting the doors slam shut behind her, humming delightedly when her men fell into formation around her.

“Tweedles,” she says lightly, heading to her throne room. “Darlings, I’ll need you to prepare an announcement. We’ll be having an execution tomorrow!”

And as she settled into her throne, the delicate silk of her dress far too smooth against her skin, the Red Queen came to a decision.

There was no need for a king to share her throne – in fact, she _had_ no king. The Red Queen ruled alone.

And a rook, well… that’s a small sacrifice to make, for the sake of winning the game.


End file.
